


steadfast

by StealthMermaid



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Minor Character Death, Pining, Tragedy, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-01-24 05:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthMermaid/pseuds/StealthMermaid
Summary: Jasper never wanted to be a hero. Alice was never supposed to be queen. Now they've been thrust into the national spotlight, bound by the same tragedy that tore them apart, and there’s no escaping each other.





	1. question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for specific content warnings for each chapter, see end note. note that these warnings are spoilerrific

 

On the crisp white paper of the after action report it all looks very simple.

They were in the kitchens when the fighting broke out, the paper says. They did not go to investigate. Jasper got the queen—they did not know then that she was the queen, and maybe she wasn’t yet, maybe one of the 21 relatives in line ahead of her was gasping his or her last in a parlor, a bedroom, a banquet hall somewhere—to the stables. He pulled her onto a horse and they rode (for nearly two straight days with hardly any rest) to Lord Carlisle’s country estate, because Jasper trusted no one else with the queen’s—by the time they arrived she was queen, though they still didn’t know it—safety.

That’s what it says.

“Yes. It’s accurate,” says Jasper, pushing the paper away. The stack beneath it is facts and figures, neat lists of the dead.

Across the desk, Carlisle nods, accepting. He knows Jasper as a young man of few words, strong and silent, aware of his place, everything a bodyguard ought to be. If Carlisle wants the rest of the story, he will have to ask Her Ladyship—majesty _._ He will have to ask Her Majesty.

Carlisle shuffles the papers back into order, sets the stack beside another carefully clipped stack—one of the other massacres.

“Well then,” he says. “I regret that I can’t give you a copy of the report,” he adds, sounding as though he means it, “but it’s kept right here, and you’re welcome to come and read it at any time.”

Jasper regards him carefully. His earnest, handsome face is drawn, exhausted. It must be hard for such a gentle person to spend all day reading over these accounts, piecing bloody anecdotes into their macabre sequence.

Carlisle scrubs a weary hand over his forehead. “Do you have any questions of your own? Off the record,” he adds, dismissing the scribe in the corner with a gesture. The door swings shut.

Jasper does have a question. No, that’s not right. The question has him. He can feel it, like a great fist squeezing his chest. It gnaws at the inside of his mind: _Ask_. _Ask_. The words are a bitter weight on the tip of his tongue.

But to ask would be to admit. And as long as he doesn’t know the answer, he can imagine away his guilt. To be _blameless_ is a fragile hope, a house of cards he’s been shielding from every tremor, every breeze. With the idea of an _answer_ echoing in his mind, all the awful possibilities open like a chasm beneath his feet.

No. It’s safer not to know. He won’t ask.

When no questions are forthcoming, Carlisle shifts in his chair.

“Jasper, if I may…” he relaxes his rigid posture and rests his chin on his knitted-together fingers, seeming to shed the persona of Duke as he fixes Jasper with a sincere look. “Why did you bring her to me?”

Jasper considers his answer. “I trusted you not to harm her.”

In point of fact, Jasper hadn’t. As a rule, he trusts no one. But he’d had to pick _someone_ , and Carlisle was the best choice. His kindness comes from somewhere intrinsic, genuine. Jasper had gambled that even if faithful, honorable Carlisle _was_ somehow colluding with the enemy, he could never bring himself to harm a teenaged girl.

And failing that, Jasper knew the layout of Carlisle’s estate. He knew how many guards there were and where they were stationed. He knew he could overpower Carlisle if he had to.

He’s glad he didn’t have to.

Carlisle nods, accepting the answer, and leans back in his chair.

“Is there anything else?” Jasper asks.

There is, of course. The question he won’t ask is a crawling itch beneath his skin.

Carlisle shakes his head. “You’re free to leave. I’m sure Her Majesty will be missing you by now.”

Unlikely. But Jasper doesn’t say so out loud. He’s very good at keeping his thoughts to himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: Jasper and Carlisle discuss a massacre that has recently occurred (not in detail.)
> 
>  
> 
> so fun fact, this was originally going to be a long one or twoshot, but I changed my mind and it's now a bunch of short bits that'll get posted two at a time. I think it's gonna end up around ~14 chapters long but honestly who knows at this point ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> questions, comments, demands? hmu on tumblr @volturialice, where you can also see the cute aesthetic-y junk I made to accompany this


	2. that night (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no content warnings for this chapter!

_A small hand is shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”_

_Jasper casts off sleep in an instant and sits up so fast that Alice, leaning over him, has to duck out of the way to avoid a collision. “What’s wrong?” he demands._

_“Nothing. You’re so paranoid,” she teases, poking him in the arm. “We’re going to the kitchens.”_

_Jasper doesn’t bother to ask why, or to point out that it’s half past midnight and it’s his job to be paranoid. There’s no talking her out of it when she gets like this—she’s so spoiled. The thought does nothing to alleviate the odd little jolt in his chest when she takes his hand._

_The corridors are vacant as she tows him along. They slip through the gardens that separate the main house from the outbuildings, and Alice shivers in the night air. She hasn’t even bothered to throw a dressing gown over her nightgown. Why should she worry about modesty in front of Jasper, who is practically part of the furniture? It’s just as well they’re going to the kitchens, because he’s awoken with a sour taste in his mouth._

 

 


	3. search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no content warnings for this chapter!

When Jasper tries to return to his post, he finds the staff in turmoil. The hall is dark and drafty, the fires unlit, and someone has abandoned a massive sheaf of lilies beside their upended vase on a side table. A parlormaid sobs into someone’s valet’s shoulder, and the footmen are rushing about as if perpetual motion is all that stands between themselves and armageddon.

He follows the panicked chatter of a flock of maids and finds what must be half the palace staff assembled outside Lord Aro’s office in a messy line.

He taps one of the more sensible servants on the shoulder. “What’s happened, Angela?”

Angela bites her lip. “Her Majesty has gone missing,” she explains, worrying at one of her starched cuffs. “Less than an hour ago. Lord Aro is questioning the staff to find out whether anyone saw something suspicious.”

Jasper tries to project a reassuring calm. “ _Did_ anyone see something suspicious?”

“No! Well, I was in the next room, so I didn’t see anything at all, but it seems as though one moment Her Majesty was there, then Jacob glanced away and when he looked back, she was gone!”

Jasper holds back a sigh. “Thank you, Angela,” he says, and strides to the front of the line. The servants make way for him, a few with inclined heads and murmurs of “my lord!” He knows it’s just courtesy, a mark of their respect, but it still makes him uncomfortable. He’s a servant like them, not the lord of anything.

Unlike Lord Carlisle’s simple, elegant study, Lord Aro’s office is furnished with dramatic effect in mind. The floor is richly carpeted, the walls so encrusted with elegant molding and pictures in great gilt frames that they look ready to collapse at any moment. And in the center of it all, the Lord Chamberlain holds court from behind his behemoth of a desk. The ugly mahogany structure sits on a raised platform, so that Aro is looking not only across but _down_ at his two guests.

Seated in the single, straight-backed chair opposite Aro is Jacob, one of Her Majesty’s new personal guards. It’s no surprise that he was the one to lose track of the queen. Jacob is easygoing and a decent fighter, but not conscientious enough, in Jasper’s professional opinion. Jacob would probably fare better as personal guard to someone who isn’t stubborn, deceitful, and slippery as an eel.

Behind Jacob’s chair stands Lady Esme, Carlisle’s wife and also, among other titles, the Mistress of the Robes. She offers Jasper a tense little smile as he enters.

“—help me understand,” Lord Aro is saying in his oily tenor. “You allowed yourself to become so distracted that Her Majesty was abducted right under your nose?”

“That’s not what happened,” snarls Jacob, on the edge of his chair. Esme puts a calming hand on his shoulder.

“And yet here we are,” says Lord Aro pleasantly, gesturing about the room. “Missing a sovereign.”

Jasper clears his throat. Protocol demands that the Lord Chamberlain be the one to address his inferiors before they can speak, but Aro has yet to even glance up at him. It’s Esme who breaks the stalemate.

“Did you have something to tell us, Jasper?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jasper inclines his head gratefully in her direction, then turns to Lord Aro. “This is a waste of time.”

Aro’s eyebrows shoot up toward his widow’s peak. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah,” pipes up Jacob. “He’s right! Instead of sitting here answering stupid questions, I should be out there helping them look for the queen!”

“There’s no need. I know where she is,” says Jasper before Lord Aro can open his mouth to reprimand Jacob.

Jacob, Esme, and Aro all stare at him in varying degrees of shock.

“Do you mean to say that you encountered Her Majesty on your way to my office?” questions Aro.

“No,” replies Jasper.

“Has one of the other guards we dispatched to search for Her Majesty been successful?”

“No.”

Aro’s thin lips twitch. “Then how, pray tell, do you know where she is?”

“I know her habits.” Jasper would like to leave it at that, but he can sense Lord Aro’s pleasant veneer beginning to slip, so continues: “If you’ll wait here, I’ll go and fetch her, and then you can see for yourself that she’s safe and put an end to this…inquiry.” Or more accurately, this ridiculous farce.

Aro’s beady gaze lingers on Jasper, appraising. At last he flicks a hand. “Very well. You may go.”

 


	4. that night (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for content warnings

_Cooking is not one of Alice’s many talents. She’s not even supposed to know how, but she wanted to learn and when she really wants something there’s no denying her. Fortunately this time there’s a covered tray of pastries left out for tomorrow’s breakfast, and Alice rummages around until she finds the jam. She smears it on carefully and hands Jasper the first one._

_It’s good—rich and flaky, sweet with just the right amount of tartness—and he’s powerfully thirsty after the first bite. Alice passes him a glass of water before he can voice the desire. She’s already drained it halfway and he finishes the rest, trying not to think about the imprint of her lips on the rim._

_She hops up onto the counter opposite him and somehow manages to wolf down two of the pastries without getting jam on herself. From the size of her, you’d think she eats like a bird, but it’s the opposite. Jasper suppresses a grin, remembering all the times she’s been in some gilded state dining room, taking dainty bites, seated among aristocrats and royal relations. If only they could see Her Ladyship now, half dressed and licking jam off her fingers._

_They exist in serene, midnight silence for a moment—Jasper with arms crossed, leaning against the wall; Alice still perched on the counter, one silk-slippered foot swinging back and forth. She watches him with an odd expression._

_“Jasper.” She looks down at her hands, fidgeting in her lap. “Do I—?” She shakes her head, starts again. “Does it ever make you…angry, when I do things like this?”_

_Yes. No. He wasn’t prepared for the question and doesn’t know how to answer. The only thing he can think to say is: “It’s my job to protect you.”_

_She lets out a huff of frustration. “Yes, but I make it terribly difficult, don’t I? Don’t you_ mind _when I drag you out of bed at ungodly hours? Aren’t you_ bored _, having to stand about waiting for me all day?” she looks up, pupils wide in the dark. “And when I tease you, don’t you want...I don’t know, some kind of revenge?” There’s an odd_ something _in her tone, an emotion he can’t pinpoint. It’s almost...hopeful_.

_But what silly questions. Of course Jasper minds, of course he gets bored. As for what he wants, well. “Revenge” certainly isn’t the right word._

_He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it._

_Before either of them can speak again, a cry pierces the night air—harsh, rasping and raw. Jasper draws his sword in the space of a blink._

_“Probably just a fox,” says Alice, but she slides down from the counter and lets Jasper take up a position between her and the entrance._

_The cry has faded so completely it might have been imaginary. There is nothing but the thrumming of spring insects, the rush of his pulse in his ears, the soft sound of Alice’s breaths behind him. Jasper crosses to the door on silent feet, sword at the ready._

_The second cry is high, feminine—and unequivocally human. Not a cry of dismay, such as a servant might make if they had discovered Alice missing from her bed. A cry of abject terror._

_Then a cacophony of shouts, screams, and crashes._

_Jasper pushes the door partway open. The shouts are coming from the second floor of the manor. Lights blaze on in two, then three windows._

_“What’s happening?” demands Alice, her hand on his arm. In the gatehouse, half a mile up the drive, a bell begins to toll, sharp and plaintive._

_Jasper sweeps Alice back, out of the sightline of anyone who might be lurking in the garden._

_“We’re under attack.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: there is brief, offscreen, implied violence at the end of this chapter.
> 
> I promise Alice will show up in the present timeline eventually she's just Being Difficult at present


	5. retrieval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for content warnings.

 

The sprawling palace kitchens are far larger than those of the country manor Jasper had called home until everyone in it was slaughtered.

On a hunch, he heads for the summer kitchen, which is farther from the main complex and isn’t supposed to be used for a few more weeks. A cluster of scullery maids whisper to each other as he passes, their gazes lingering. He quickens his steps and keeps his head down.

The scent of warm bread hits him first, tantalizing even from across the courtyard. Smoke issues from the summer kitchen’s chimneys. He was right.

When he pushes open the door, the air is thick with the aromas of half a dozen spices. The cooks are all crowded around one end of the massive bank of stoves and counter space, laughing uproariously.

“No, Your Majesty, not like that! You’ve got to knead it properly, with some force,” advises Sue, the head chef. “Use your full weight.”

“I’m afraid it will still take all night if I do _that_ ,” laments a higher voice, sending the gaggle of kitchen staff into fresh gales of laughter.

Her Majesty Queen Alice I is up to her wrists in bread dough. The enormous apron tied haphazardly over her gown has failed to protect the black silk from what looks like an explosion of flour, and tendrils of dark hair have come loose from her chignon to curl against her neck in the heat. Her cheeks are flushed from the exertion of abusing the dough with all her strength. She might be just another kitchen maid, with her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips as she works.

“Alice.”

He’d meant to call her Your Majesty, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words.

Alice looks up, hands still in the dough, and when her eyes meet his there’s a moment where nothing has changed. A moment where she is once again the king’s idle socialite great niece and Jasper is simply a friend and protector, not a national hero but a nobody, important only to her. A moment where they’re back home on an ordinary day, a day when Alice skips lessons and Jasper is dispatched to drag her back like a naughty child but she convinces him to play hooky with her instead, and they end up on some harebrained adventure through the grounds or the village, and when they return Jasper faces nothing worse than a slap on the wrist because at least Alice was safe with him the whole time.

For a moment, he is whole and mended and all is right in the universe.

Then true recognition flares in her eyes like the death throes of a candle flame, familiar warmth snuffed out by cold indifference. This is not Alice, the cheerful, mischievous girl who trusted him implicitly, who woke him in the middle of the night to eat pastries with her. This is Her Majesty the Queen, who hates him.

It doesn’t matter, of course. Her hatred has no bearing on Jasper’s ability to fulfill his role. His job is to ensure her physical safety, not to be her best friend.

So he ignores the stupid, unprofessional ache beneath his sternum.

“I suppose you’ve come to drag me back,” sniffs Alice, making no move to extract her hands from the dough. Sue and the rest of the kitchen staff drop their eyes and retreat, as if they’ve suddenly remembered all the tasks they have to do and have also been struck selectively deaf.

“Yes,” says Jasper. “Half the palace is in an uproar, looking for you.”

“And if I refuse to go with you?” Alice’s emphasis on the last word is precise, vicious.

Jasper shrugs, impassive. “I suppose I can have Jacob or one of the others drag you back, if you’d prefer.”

He’s not bluffing. Alice must read the determination on his face, because she only hesitates another moment before pulling her hands free. “Fine,” she spits, untying her apron in jerky movements as she strides past him. “Let’s go.” She hisses something under her breath that might be “ _fucking hell,_ ” but it’s difficult to make out.

Jasper lengthens his steps to follow as she storms back across the courtyard. She doesn’t look back. Her boiling, churning anger lashes at the walls of his careful stoicism.

She’s so predictable. He wishes he could derive some sort of satisfaction from being right, but all he feels is universal irritation. At Jacob, for losing track of Alice. At Lord Aro, for whipping the staff into a paranoid frenzy over nothing. At Alice, for behaving like a selfish child.

And at himself, but that’s nothing new.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: Jasper offhandedly threatens to drag Alice back to her responsibilities by force, but does not follow through on the threat.
> 
> #Let Alice Say Fuck 2k19
> 
> if y'all wanna comment etc that would be very effervescent of you. Major thanks to those who have kudosed/commented/shared already!


	6. that night (iii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for content warnings

 

_In order to reach the stables, they have to cross back through the gardens, somehow steal across the covered walkway that connects the main house to the east wing, and traverse a further 300 yards of open lawn before they reach cover._

_If Jasper were the one launching this attack, he would station a few men in the stables to prevent anyone from escaping. Which means that even if he can get Alice safely there, they aren’t going to be able to waltz in and ride away without a fight._

_He also knows that the longer he and Alice wait, the more the enemy will spread out. When they discover Alice isn’t where they expect, they’ll have to do a sweep of the entire house, followed by the grounds. Every second that he and Alice have the element of surprise is precious._

_Alice stays alert and silent and close, levelheaded despite the fear that radiates from her like a silent pulse in the air. She’s armed herself with a kitchen knife that looks absurdly large in her hand—it would be funny, under any other circumstances._

_With the moon stifled behind clouds, the garden has become a snarled wilderness of potential danger. Jasper navigates by memory, hyper alert for any sign of intruders. The noises from the main house continue—glass shattering, cries that cut off abruptly. He tries not to think about who is making them. He can’t afford to feel concern for anyone but Alice right now._

_They are halfway through the gardens when he hears it—a small sound, off to the right. The crunch of a boot shifting on gravel._

_Alice hears it too and stops short. Jasper wraps a hand around her upper arm in a silent gesture._ Stay _. It’s not so dark that he can’t see the fear in her eyes as she nods._

_Peering around a hedge, he can just make out the silhouette of a man. Not one of their own. Protocol dictates that all the guards but Jasper will have rushed to either protect their charges or confront the attackers._

_But this man is in no hurry—his posture is confident, relaxed. He’s facing away, toward the house. Good._

_By the time the intruder hears the rustle of the hedge behind him, Jasper’s knife is already sinking into his kidney, where the pain will be so excruciating he won’t be able to scream. A half-second and Jasper yanks the blade free to plunge it into the side of the man’s neck and jerk it forward, severing the trachea and carotid before his opponent can draw breath._

_It’s over that quickly. Jasper catches the body and lowers it to the ground without disturbing so much as a pebble._

_The corpse is a stranger, tall and fair-haired, armed with two short knives and a sword. His garments are nondescript, but there’s something about his heavy boots that screams_ mercenary _. The muscle hired to stand about in the bushes and help the true hunters flush out their quarry._

_Alice is right where he left her, kitchen knife at the ready. She lowers the weapon and lurches toward him when she sees the blood on his shirt. Her free hand flutters over his arm and shoulder—it takes Jasper a moment to realize she’s checking him for injuries._

_From the moment he first drew his sword, his entire being has been focused on immediate survival. Thirty seconds ago he cut a man’s throat with unwavering calm and a steady hand. Now his hands tremble. He can’t seem to expel the air that sticks in his lungs._

_He swallows, and risks breaking the silence long enough to breathe “I’m fine. Let’s go.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: Jasper kills a dude in brisk but graphic manner in this chapter
> 
> I'm about to move apartments, so it might be a while before the next update! In the meantime you're welcome to come bother me on tumblr or the platform of your choice


End file.
